Crazy Little Thing Called Love
by tilleygirl
Summary: My finale fix fic, but it is more a possible scenario for how things could play out post-finale. This deals with the emotional fall out of the balcony scene. How can Mary keep her promise and Marshall deal with the reality of that promise?
1. Chapter 1

**I call this my finale fix fic, but it's not really. It's more a possible scenario leading from what we were given in the finale. A scenario that is going to at least put things on the right path. We didn't have a wedding and as Brandi has taught us, even on the wedding day, things can change. So, trying to keep the characters, well, in character, and the emotions honest with what we know of our heroes, I hope I am giving you a plausible scenario.**

Chapter 1

Marshall Mann entered the WitSec office on his first day as Chief feeling a little strange inside. He glanced around the empty office, his eyes lighting on his old desk, now cleared of all paraphernalia, then glanced over at the desk positioned so close to his old one. Beating down a swell of emotion and quickly heading into his new office, he shrugged out of his jacket and surveyed his new domain. Even though he had come in over the weekend and moved all his things to the new location, set up his computer, arranged his origami and photos, proudly set his new nameplate on the front of his desk, it still felt as though he was trespassing in Stan's space.

He had been tickled to find the note from Stan inside the locked top drawer. He had read through the list of sound advise his old boss had left for him, stopping short at the last item – _don't let anything come between your friendship with Mary. It won't be worth it. A good partner is hard to find, a best friend – even harder. _That was going to be the trick though wasn't it? Keeping his best friend, especially under the restrictions he himself had imposed.

The send off party for Stan the previous Friday had been a success. Everyone had seemed happy, smiling faces all around the table at the restaurant. Stan was relaxed, assured. Lia was quiet, but supportive, although Marshall felt a lingering sadness underneath. Clearly things needed to be discussed regarding the future of the relationship. Abby had been cheerful. Jinx and Brandi had been on good behavior. Even Parillo and Shelley had come. And Mary. On the surface things seemed normal between them. They joked, Mary stole food from his plate, she even brought a date. But something was just a little bit...off.

He had finally had the strained, but required conversation with Mary Shannon, his partner of almost ten years. That hadn't gone quite as he had planned and he knew with a certainty that he hadn't been completely honest with her, but what needed to be said had been said. He could truthfully tell Abigail that they had talked and all was well, the wedding plans could move forward. Abby had accepted his word without questions, smiling happily at him. Marshall tried to block out the look of hurt on Mary's face when he told her they could no longer have the close friendship they had always had. He cringed every time he recalled telling her just the previous week that the first person she had to call when she needed to talk about her father was him, only to tell her just days later that she couldn't call him anymore. He hadn't meant it quite the way it came out, but Mary had accepted it and released him. Maybe the first truly selfless gesture she had ever extended to him.

Marshall drew a new origami creation out of his briefcase and placed it on Mary's keyboard. Hoping it would bring a smile to her lips. Or a tart retort. He considered the pale pink dove held between his fingers: a peace offering. Today he had to consider who to chose as Mary's partner. No one would ever truly fill his shoes in that respect he knew. No one would ever know her the way he did, be able to anticipate her moves the way he did, be able to put up with her the way her did. Mary would likely be particularly crabby today, as it would truly dawn on her that their partnership was no more.

He sighed as he walked over to set the coffee pot brewing. He had debated how to handle the change in their relationship, both professionally and personally. The professional change he had ultimately decided to follow Stan's advice – let Mary have her way on the small things and stand his ground on the major ones. Not such a big change from their partnership. The personal change was going to be more tricky.

He edged behind his new desk and gingerly sat down in the chief's chair. He blew out his breath. He had bought himself some unexpected breathing room with this promotion. He and Abby had agreed that with starting a new position and the responsibility that went along with it, it wouldn't be starting out on the right foot to immediately take a couple weeks off for a honeymoon. They had decided to push back the wedding date a few months until Marshall was more settled in at work. The suggestion had been Abigail's. He had been surprised, but grateful as he knew taking on the new job would leave precious little time for a personal life. The decision made him feel oddly happy.

Marshall looked up when he heard the security door click open, expecting to see Delia. He froze when he saw Mary. She never came in this early. A glance at the clock told him it was just coming up on 8:00. He closed his eyes briefly. Everything between them was just...off. He didn't like it.

Mary flung her purse down beside her chair and headed over to the kitchenette area, on the hunt for caffeine. She could smell the freshly brewing coffee and knew Marshall had brought one of his personal blends he liked so much. She spared a covert glance towards Stan's, _no Marshall's,_ office and saw him peering out at her. Mustering up a rather weak smile, she gestured towards the coffee pot. "Federal government supplies not good enough for you, Chief?"

Marshall grinned and came out of his office, leaning against the doorjamb. "It's your favorite," he said quietly, " and I thought you, _we,_ could probably both use the good stuff today." Her eyes came up to meet his, and to her chagrin, she felt herself flush. Still looking out for her, as always.

Mary edged back towards her desk, hating the feeling of uncertainty that had crept into their relationship over the past few days. Since 'the talk'. Her mind skittered away from that crushing conversation on the balcony. She set her mug down on her desk and reached over to flip on her computer. Her hand froze when she saw the pale pink dove balancing delicately on the letter M on her keyboard. Peace offering? She glanced towards Marshall, who had returned to his office. Why did he feel the need to give a peace offering?

* * *

Mary finished up the last of the paperwork on the Anolete intake. Dourly regarding the final signed document, she thought longingly of the days when Marshall would do her paperwork for her. No such luck with Delia. The woman was surprisingly firm on certain things. The new partnership was going about as well as expected. Delia had no delusions about ever being the partner to Mary that Marshall had been. They were developing a rapport of a kind, but it was a guarded one.

Mary found working for Marshall easier than expected. Somewhat to her surprise, he continued to allow her to dictate things, to get away with plenty. It had only recently begun to dawn on her that it was just the small potatoes he let slide, maybe because there were so *many* small potatoes. The big issues he was sticking to his guns. She smiled. Much as Stan had done.

Looking in the dark office of the new Chief, she wondered idly when Marshall was going to announce his wedding date. She was waiting in some trepidation for that. In the old days, _god could the old days_ _really only be two months ago?_, she would have just asked him. Now, Mary felt uncomfortable having any private discussions with Marshall. She was holding to her promise the best way she knew how. Because she had told him the truth when she said that more than anything else, she wanted him to be happy. _And just why was that Mary Shannon, that the most important thing to you in this world, outside of Norah, was that Marshall be happy? Just stew on that awhile girlie._

She missed him. Missed him tremendously. Missed their banter. Oh, they still joked, threw zingers. But it was different and not as comfortable. She never called unless it was work related. Marshall had called a few times. It felt like he was checking in on her and that made her bristle. She had cut him short. Multiple invitations had been extended to gatherings at his and Abby's house. Each one had been turned down- politely, but still turned down. She just couldn't bring herself to witness the happiness she wanted for him.

Loneliness was her companion now. Kenny had been given the boot after a month of booty calls. He said too many Marshall-esque things. And he was no Marshall. Brandi was back in her house of course, but was living her own life. She had a sales job lined up for after the baby was born, declaring that she would get her own place as soon as she had a few months rent saved up. Jinx was doing well and was out of her house. That was the important thing. On the wagon and out of her house. Norah of course, took up most of her time. But still, loneliness was pervasive. She hadn't realized how much she had depended on Marshall for adult companionship. Delia had extended tentative offers to go out after work, but Mary couldn't bring herself to accept.

This was her new reality. Her only friend off limits. Mary had never felt the need to cultivate any other friendships. It had literally never occurred to her that anything could come between them. Heaving herself up from her desk, she walked into Marshall's office and placed her form on the top of his inbox, to await his signature. She glanced around curiously, having never had the chance to really look at his office, always trying to make a speedy escape whenever she had to walk into the tidy space.

Spying some photos on the credenza behind his desk, she walked around and picked one up. Abby and Marshall. She didn't even try to stop the face she made. It was a professional portrait. Staring at Marshall with his arms around the cheerleader, Mary was floored when she realized it was likely an engagement photo. Abby was radiant, Marshall was, well, handsome. Why had she only noticed that he was a handsome man a few months ago? She quickly set it back down and picked up the next, smaller frame. She stared. How was it she had never seen this photo before? It was an amateur shot, she and Marshall outside the city somewhere, she wasn't sure where. They were side by side, resting against a truck, looking at each other, smiling. Marshall's face was so full of affection, that Mary almost started crying. And she was looking up at him with a soft smile, like she... Abruptly she put the frame back down and quickly cleared out of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Delia strode into the office, a basket filled with fresh baked muffins held in one hand, her briefcase in the other. She nodded at the chief as she walked by, noticing how tired he seemed. Three months into his new 'administration', and she knew the adjustment was not as easy as everyone had assumed it would be. Marshall was working long hours, he was planning a wedding. She glanced at Mary's desk and sighed. A gradually increasing tension had entered the relationship between Mary and her former partner. Delia was aware that some kind of conversation had taken place, was almost certain the change came down to Abigail, had probably been demanded by Abigail. Delia could appreciate a bride to be wanting to come first in her fiance's heart. It sure made her sad though, to see at what price that first place finish was costing the two people most dear to her in the office.

She set a muffin down on each desk, handed Marshall's to him personally, then poured herself a cup of coffee, before heading to her desk. Mary arrived a short time later, her distraction evident by her generally rumpled appearance and dark smudges under her eyes.

"Everything okay Mary?" she asked guardedly. Mary threw her purse on her desk and picked up her coffee mug.

"Norah had a rough night, therefore I had a rough night. Be a good idea to steer clear of me today." She searched in vain for a stirry thingy, finally gave up and took a swig. "Eww," she said, nose wrinkling in disgust, "hey Marshall, where's the good stuff? This tastes like my last oil change on the Probe." She stalked to his open door and glared in at him.

"Sorry," he said shortly, without looking up, "I didn't get your order for the week." It was a snippish remark and Mary was slightly taken aback. Everything was becoming so strange with them now, she just let it go and returned to her desk, checked her messages and turning to Delia, motioned towards the door. "I need to visit the Anoletes. Cory is apparently in trouble at school again. You coming?"

Delia stood and grabbed her jacket, giving a sad glance in the office of Mary's former partner.

Marshall looked up when he heard the snick of the door locking and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what was happening to him. He and Mary had always traded zingers, but it had always been good-natured, never meant to inflict pain. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. These brusque comments were coming after fights with Abby. They'd had a big one last night over the amount of time he was spending at work. Well , it actually started over the fact he was late to their meeting to check out a potential catering company and became about his work hours.

His arguments with Abigail were bewildering to him also. She had always understood the nature of his work, the time commitment. He needed to talk with someone about it and the person with whom he would normally discuss anything that was bothering him... He sighed again. He could feel the tension in his shoulders and neck. He thought a moment, blankly staring at the form in front of him. An unusually timely and well filled out intake form from Mary. His focus sharpened. No, no signs of Delia's intervention. He brought his gaze up to look at Mary's empty desk and reluctantly reached over to pick up his phone.

* * *

Mary sat at the kitchen table as Annaliese Anolete voiced her worries about her oldest son. Annaliese was a petite woman, her auburn hair cut in a short pageboy. Her face showed the strain she had been under the last few months. A middle-aged woman who had been thrown completely out of her depth by the unexpected turn her life had taken. Her seventeen year old son was the source of most of her concerns. He was angry, cutting classes, hanging around with the wrong kids. Annaliese was beside herself, uncertain what to do. He was threatening to leave the program as soon as he turned eighteen, to go back to his friends, his school. Mary assured her she would talk to Cory. She wished for the millionth time that Marshall was there with her. He should be the one to talk with Cory. He had a way with teen-age kids. Could get through to them without seeming preachy or condescending.

Mary's sharp eyes took in the neat kitchen, the living room strewn with sports gear and DVD jackets. She found she was more sympathetic now to the rug pulled out feeling her witnesses experienced. She was feeling that way herself, the anchor of her life having pulled up and set sail with the boat named Abigail, leaving her to flounder in the water. She was unsettled, unhappy, lonely. For the first time in her adult life, throwing herself into work wasn't distracting her. Wasn't helping her to cope. For the first time since she became a U.S. Marshal, Mary Shannon was not enjoying her work. She felt a barrenness in her job now, aware that the loss of her best friend had created a hole that she despaired of ever filling.

Looking up at Annaliese, she put her hand briefly on her arm. "I'll call Cory, arrange to meet him. We'll get him straightened out." Standing up and rolling her shoulders back, she internally vowed to keep Norah on a leash once she hit the teen years. Jerking her head towards the door, she indicated to Delia it was time to leave. Delia made nice with Annaliese, said all the comforting babble and met Mary by the car. Mary had her phone out, pacing like a caged tiger in front of the minivan, leaving an impatient message with Cory to call her immediately.

* * *

Hospital waiting rooms all had the same character Mary mused, as she surveyed the painfully familiar walls of the current waiting room she occupied. She had brought Brandi in several hours ago in the early stages of labor. Thankfully Jinx was in with her now and Mary was catching a bit of a break. She picked up the three month old copy of Sport Illustrated that was on the table by her chair and threw it back down. Reluctantly, she pulled her phone out and sent a quick text to Marshall, letting him know where she was and that she may not be in the next day.

A heavily pregnant woman waddling up and down the corridor caught her eye. Trying to hurry things along she supposed. It all came soon enough as it was, she thought darkly. Next thing she knew, she would be here waiting as Marshall paced the floors and Abby was in labor and delivery. The thought brought a rather sharp stab of pain. Several things wrong with that scenario. The first one being, she wouldn't be here. Why would she be? And Marshall wouldn't be out in the waiting room, he'd be in there with her, his wife.

Mary had a vague memory of Marshall hovering around the entrance of her labor and delivery room, until Mark basically shooed him out. She had been in too much pain to tell Mark to let him stay. Mary had found Marshall's presence in the ambulance terribly comforting. That steady calming influence. It had always been there for her. Until '_the balcony'_. She thought of that event in italics now. The delineation between life with her best friend and life without her best friend.

The funny thing was, she still felt him trying to send that steadying influence from afar. Mary knew Marshall was feeling frustrated by her blocking of each attempt he had made to reconnect. She was determined in a way she never had been before, to keep her word to let him go, to let him be happy. The only way she knew not to fall back into old habits, was to not allow the intimacy they had shared previously. An intimacy she hadn't truly been aware of until it was gone. Even so, she felt his concern, his steadiness, his steadfastness crossing the distance she was creating between them.

A moaning scream coming from the nearest labor and delivery room startled Mary out of her reverie and she grimaced. Brandi. She was going to be a wailer. Mary just knew it. Heaving herself to her feet, she reluctantly headed back towards her crying sister.

* * *

Marshall waved Mary into his office when she came back from lunch. Knowing better than to ask her to take a seat, he inquired about the Lisle's daughter and the incident at her part-time job. Mary gave a succinct report, without personal commentary. Marshall, hesitated, then asked about Brandi's baby. Mary hadn't given him any information other than she'd had a baby boy and both were fine.

"They came home on Tuesday. Scott, and yes, she named her baby after our dead half-brother, has his nights and days confused, so it's a jolly time at the Shannon house." She glanced at him uncertainly. "Brandi is trying to adjust and I'm just trying to survive. Mark has been a big help." The blonde offered a tight smile, thinking about the 24 hours of labor, the reality of having two children under the age of one in the house, the constant rounds of feedings and diaper changes and the crying. She supposed she would love her nephew, eventually, but right now it was a little difficult. He was more an eight pound bundle of responsibility than a bundle of joy.

Mary cut her eyes up at Marshall, wondering if he remembered her request of several years ago to be shot should she ever have three children. Only one to go now.

Marshall cleared his throat, shuffled some papers into a neat stack on his desk, before casually saying, "You know, Abs and I," Mary cut him off before he could even make the offer.

"No. I know you only want to help, but I don't want to appear to be taking any time away from your girlfriend. We agreed, remember?" Her eyes were averted and Marshall felt himself growing tense with the frustration of not being able to connect with her. He was beginning to feel a coil of anxiety in his gut that he feared would only be relieved by Mary letting him back in.

"Mary," he began, but was again cut off.

"I have a lot of work to do. Thanks for asking about Brandi." And she fled his office, distancing herself from the puppy dog look of hurt on her boss's face. She was rebuffing every attempt to reconnect and she knew it was hurting him. Mary was so afraid that if she relaxed, started to fall into old habits, started to get too familiar again, that Abigail would insist on a total break between them, that she would lose what little she still had. And Mary was prepared to fight with every ounce of strength and wiles to keep that little bit. She had to. Acknowledging far too late in the game that Marshall was the anchor in her storm of life, she knew she would go down without him to steady her, keep her from drifting off course. Even from a distance, she felt that influence.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shelley Finkel regarded the tall man in front of her, silently waiting for him to speak, mentally cataloging the changes she noticed since she'd last seen him. Stan's retirement party, what three, four months ago? She had come to regard Marshall as something as a friend, although strictly speaking that wasn't allowed within the doctor/patient relationship. She liked him. She had from the moment she met him. It pained her to see him like this – tense, deflated, ungrounded. He should be happy, He had recently received a major promotion, he was getting married. This should be the happiest time of his life.

Marshall had come to her in a professional capacity, needing to talk through some problems he was having with Abigail. She tilted her head to one side, a new insight hitting her. The therapist considered a moment, eyes tracking Marshall as he got up and started pacing the small office, much as he had on a previous visit, the nervous energy fueling the jerky movements unusual for him. This time the visit was voluntary though, not mandated. Shelley let him wear a line in her rug for a few moments, settling back in her chair.

"Marshall, sit," she said finally, in a tone that brooked no argument, "I'll leave the question of why you believe you are having arguments with your fiancee, at least for the moment, and move on to another. You've been here for," she glanced at clock on the wall, " half an hour, and not once mentioned Mary." She noted his head snap up and his eyes fix on her. Amazing blue eyes. _Focus Shelley._ "I've known you several years Marshall, we've not once had a conversation that didn't have Mary's name come up. What's going on with you two? Are you having difficulty with the partner to boss transition?"

Marshall stared at Shelley, awed by how perceptive she was, how well she read his silence. He had wanted to talk about his difficulties with Abby, but he knew, deep down, they related to his difficulties with Mary. Shaking his head slowly, Marshall sank back down on the couch and rested his arms on his knees, leaning forward, almost supplicating.

"No, that transition is actually going better than expected. I haven't asked Mary to change who she is and Mary has done a good job so far of accepting my authority when I've had to impose it." He halted, his eyes closing. Something happened between them, Shelley thought. _That _transition. He had emphasized the word slightly. She wondered if Marshall had finally told Mary how he felt. It didn't take a psychologist to see that Marshall had been in love with his partner for years. The two coffee 'dates' she'd had with Marshall had been very illuminating on that respect. She had been very surprised when she heard about his engagement.

When Marshall opened his eyes again, Shelley was shocked to see tears glistening. "I betrayed her," he said softly, "I betrayed her trust in me, the one man she had always believed would be there for her." His gaze fixed on the bookcase behind Shelley's desk. "Abby told me I had to choose. And I chose Abby. I love her. I want to marry her. But my relationship with Mary was interfering with my relationship with Abby. I told Mary she had to release me. That if she called, I would come, every time. I didn't mean that she should never call me, that we couldn't still be friends, but I think that is how she has interpreted it. She released me because she wants me to be happy. And I'm miserable. I miss her so much. It all went wrong, the talk we had. For Pete's sake, I told her just the week before that she had to call me, if no one else, to talk about her father's death." He buried his head in his hands. "And there I was, telling her it was her fault my relationship with Abby was in danger, and that she was the one who had to release me, that she couldn't call all the time. When the truth is, I was the one who couldn't release her, that Abby sensed she didn't come first and wasn't happy about it." He looked up and engaged Shelley's soft brown eyes.

"I have given up the most important thing in my life to try and make Abby happy. And it isn't working. Because I'm not happy. And Abigail senses that."

Shelley kept her face carefully neutral. She sat back and folded her hands over her stomach.

"Marshall, if Mary is the most important thing in your life, why are you marrying Abigail? She rightfully deserves to come first with you. You can't force yourself to feel something you don't."

Marshall was shaking his head emphatically. "No, I love Abs. That's not the issue. I do. It's not that I don't feel love for her." Intense blue eyes fixed on hers, his body was leaning forward, he wanted to make sure she understood, Shelly thought. He's trying to convince himself as well as me.

"The issue is you also feel love for Mary." The statement hung in the air between them. "That's why you put it all on Mary, because you couldn't stop yourself feeling love for her. You wanted her to push you away I think." She watched him with a certain feeling of sympathy. He couldn't have the one he wanted and was trying oh so hard to make it work with a wan substitute.

"You were accurate in your statement. What you did was a betrayal of Mary's trust and friendship. I understand why you said what you did, and likely Mary understands why also. Doesn't mean she likes it. She is distancing herself to protect her heart." Shelley didn't want to kick him when he was in such a vulnerable state, but some things needed to be clearly laid out on the table.

"Marshall, did you ever clearly tell Mary how you felt? Did you say the actual words in a way that couldn't be misconstrued? I think it's important for both of you that these unstated feelings be aired." Marshall clenched his fists and slowly counted to ten. "And don't try to tell me you don't love her."

"I redirected." He flexed his hands, placing them on his knees, palms sliding on the smooth denim. "I told her 'I love you'. And she looked at me and didn't say anything for an eternity. I meant to tell her I loved her, but accepted she didn't feel the same and had moved on. But somehow the need to make sure she didn't feel uncomfortable won out, and I said 'Not like that. You know what I mean.' Implying it was the love of friendship. Which is true. I do love her as a friend. But in the midst of it the rest of what I wanted to say didn't get said and then the moment was over. And she accepted what I said and now thinks I don't want her bothering me."

"And also thinks you don't love her in that way." Shelley watched the statement sink in. "Even if she may have had feelings, she would be backpedaling from them now."

Marshall picked up a small rubber ball that was sitting on the table beside the couch and commenced squeezing it. "She has rebuffed every effort I've made to reconnect. She turns down invitations. She doesn't offer any updates on her personal life, her mother or sister, even Norah. I find out most things from Delia. And she won't let me tell her anything about me and Abby. Always finds an excuse to leave whenever I try to tell her something. This isn't what I wanted." He was squeezing the life out of the small blue ball. "This isn't what I wanted."

Shelley stood up and walked over to the window, her back to him, but able to see his reflection in the tinted glass. "What _do_ you want, Marshall?"

* * *

What _did_ he want? The question had run laps over and over in his mind since it was put to him a few weeks previously by Shelley. He wanted to marry Abby. He searched his inner feelings repeatedly and yes, he felt secure in that. He wanted to marry Abby. Abby wanted to marry him. Then why was he so unhappy?

Impatiently shifting in his seat, he waited for Delia to emerge from Cafe Guiseppe with their lattes. He had been on a witness visit with her, part of her evaluation. He always liked coming to the Nob Hill area. He enjoyed the eclectic nature of it, the vibrancy. And he loved the coffee at Guiseppe's. Mary was always far too eager to get out of the area, considering it too pretentious. It was nice to be with Delia, who didn't mind taking the time to stop for a few minutes. Today though, he was restless.

Reaching over to open the passenger side door for Delia as she had both hands full, he spared a brief thought for her personal life. She never mentioned anything about a boyfriend or seeing anyone. Gratefully taking his latte from her, he turned to her as she settled in her seat and placed her bag on the floor.

"So, Delia, you seeing anyone?" The question seemed abrupt and inappropriate as soon as it was out of his mouth. Delia turned an assessing gaze on him.

"As it happens, I am. I just don't discuss my personal life at work." He was reaching to turn the key, a flush on his cheeks and Delia placed her hand on his arm. "Don't. Let's talk a minute. Something has obviously been on your mind for some time. I know everyone thinks I'm a gossip and chatterbox, but I can keep things to myself. And I think you need a friendly ear."

Marshall sighed and leaned back against the head rest. He watched a young couple walk past the car and into Guiseppe's, dressed like the proverbial hippies and holding hands. A faint whiff of weed came to his nostrils. "I'm pretty sure you have a good idea of what's bothering me," he said flatly. "It's Mary and Abigail , Abigail and Mary, and my inability the separate the two women in my life. In order to make Abigail happy, I've had to make Mary unhappy and in the process myself unhappy. But if I didn't, I might have lost Abigail. I'm in a catch-22 and I can't figure a way out."

Delia watched her boss, debating internally whether to share her own observations and thoughts. She sipped at her latte, opening the window slightly to let in some fresh air.

"You want my thoughts?" She waited until he turned his head towards her.

"Sure," he said heavily, "why not? My own thoughts aren't getting me anywhere." He watched her warm brown eyes glance down, and as she took a deep breath before looking back at him.

"Alright. Here's what I think. I think you have been in love with Mary for years. I think you have no idea of how to live your life separately from Mary. I think that you had hoped for a long time that she would magically realize she felt the same and declare her love to you. I think you never clearly expressed your feelings to her, that you feared she would never return your feelings and you moved on, starting a relationship with Abby. I know something has happened between the two of you, I suspect you were pressed by Abigail to step back from your closeness with Mary. And whatever it is that happened, it has made both of you very unhappy." She paused a moment, picking her next words carefully.

"Marshall, you can love two women at the same time, but you can't have both of them. You're going to have to decide – which one do you keep in your life? In her marriage with you, Abigail isn't going to allow you the same level of intimacy with Mary. You know that. Can you accept a limited relationship with Mary, one that is based on a professional association only?" Marshall's expression was pained.

"It hurts me to see you like this Chief. I wish Stan were here." She was silent a moment. "You should call him. It won't come as revelatory news that you have strong feelings for Mary."

Marshall looked at her sharply. Delia clearly saw much more than she let on. The major factor holding him back from calling his old boss had been reluctance to tell Stan of his feeling for Mary. Delia's choice of words brought a memory to the surface of Eleanor saying much the same thing. And that had come the last time he and Mary were estranged. An estrangement brought about due to her relationship with Raph. Could they not have a healthy relationship with a third party without it negatively impacting their own relationship? Had they become so dependent on each other?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Marshall woke with a start, his softly buzzing cell phone as loud to his sensitive ears as a clanging bell. He quickly grabbed it from the bedside table, hoping he wouldn't wake Abby. Glancing at the caller ID, he frowned to see Jinx's name, a small frisson of unease starting to work its way into his belly.

"Marshall," he said quietly, trying to hold his voice steady. Jinx never called him. Never. A hundred scenarios were rushing through his sleep muddled mind. None of them good.

"Marshall," Mary's mother was breathless, struggling to hold onto a semblance of calm, "you have to come to the hospital." Marshall was already throwing the covers aside, reaching for his jeans and shirt neatly folded on the chair by the dresser. His stomach was threatening to flip over.

"Is Mary okay?" he asked sharply, the thin edge of fear sharp in his voice. "Where is she?"

"It's Norah. You have to come quick. Mary is so distraught." Marshall murmured his agreement, pushed aside the faint guilty feeling at the relief he felt that it wasn't Mary, and turned to find the slightly accusatory stare of his fiancée. He didn't have time to deal with that right now.

"That was Jinx. It's Norah. She's in the hospital with a 104 degree fever." Abby's expression changed and she stood up, saying she would come with him. Marshall nodded, knowing acquiescence was the quickest way to get to the hospital, to Mary.

They drove in silence to the medical center. Marshall's mind was covering a myriad of subjects, but always circling back to one. _Why didn't Mary call? _Jinx said they brought Norah in at 10:00. It was now 3:20 in the morning. His agitated thoughts shied away from the obvious: he had told Mary not to call him. And she hadn't. She had kept her word and not called unless it was work related. That wasn't what he had meant, for her to completely stop calling. And surely she knew he would always be there for her if anything happened to Norah?

Grimly pulling into the parking garage, he hastily got out of his truck, walking so quickly Abby had to run to keep up. Entering the hospital, they headed towards the pediatric ward, Marshall anxiously scanning the hallways and waiting rooms for Mary. Asking at the nurses station, they were directed down the hall to a small waiting room, where he found a post- pregnancy swollen Brandi dozing in a chair, baby carrier at her feet, a worried Jinx flipping through a magazine and his hyper partner – _no, former partner_ – pacing the small room. Her hands were holding her head; Marshall recognized the gesture. She was barely holding on, dangerously close to flaming out in a full blown panic.

Mary looked up as the door opened, her expression changing from one of hopeful expectation to dashed chagrin to...Marshall had never seen this expression before on his friend's face. Like he had come to save her. She took a step towards him. "Marshall." A single word croaked out, so full of emotion it almost bowled him over. He crossed to her in a few quick steps, catching her crumpling form as she dissolved in sobs. Strong arms circled her shoulders and held her to him as she cried, anguish and fear escaping in tears and harshly drawn breath.

Her hands scrabbled to find purchase on his lean body, fingers entwined in his jacket, hanging on so tight he felt some difficulty drawing a deep breath. He swore he could literally feel her drawing strength from him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, his own face mirroring the fear and grief Mary was letting escape through her sobs.

"I'm here now," he whispered in her ear. "Tell me what you need." The cries increased, not exactly the effect he was going for. He settled for continuing to hold her, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her back, his other arm securely around her waist. Her shaking form felt familiar, even though he had rarely, in the decade they'd known each other, ever put his arms around her. Marshall tightened his hold on her, every shudder racking her body like a thorn in his heart. Finally she pulled back, rubbing a hand angrily over red eyes and reluctantly looked up at him.

"What are you doing here?" The abrupt question hurt more than he liked to admit.

"Jinx called me," he said quietly. "What happened to Norah?"

Mary cast a baleful look at Jinx, who was watching the two of them sadly. "Meningitis," she said shortly. "It's bad."

* * *

Marshall stood in the doorway to Norah's room, silently watching Mary bend over her baby's bed. She was lightly running her hand over Norah's forehead, murmuring to her. He smiled, amazed anew every time at how well Mary had taken to motherhood. His posture relaxed as he saw Mary was more relaxed.

Abigail stopped down the hall from Marshall, watching him watch Mary. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was Mary he was watching in that room and not Norah. The soft smile playing on his lips, the casual stance. Her lips compressed. They were going to have to talk again. She needed to know just exactly what Marshall had told Mary in their talk. Abby didn't understand the dynamics that were at play now. She knew Mary didn't call nearly as often. She also knew there was a tinge of sadness that seemed to surround Marshall. On more than one occasion, Abby had watched him pick up his cell phone, look at it, hesitate, then put it back in it's holder. His restraint was palpable, the desire to call his former partner. She turned and headed back to the waiting room.

Marshall walked into the room, calling a soft greeting to Mary. She looked up and smiled tightly. She had never in her life allowed herself to fall apart like she had earlier, especially not in someone's arms. Not even that other time she had cried in his arms, on the balcony. Stupid balcony was like a place of doom, she thought darkly. That had been bad enough, but this time there were witnesses, including Abby. She was alternately embarrassed and angry – embarrassed that he had seen her so vulnerable and angry that he was here. No, not angry he was here she told herself, angry that he had made her feel she couldn't call him. She had desperately wanted to, had agonized over it, but ultimately refrained from doing so. She had promised. Of course Jinx didn't know that. Her mother couldn't understand why Mary wouldn't have called Marshall straight off, couldn't understand her adamance that she wasn't going to call him.

He stood on the other side of the crib and gently stroked Norah's silky hair. "What does the doctor say?" he asked, not looking at Mary.

"The next few hours are critical." Her tiny body was radiating heat, even in sleep her distress evident, her restless limbs in near constant motion.

"I'll stay with you," he offered, girding himself for the expected refusal, which came quickly. He looked up. "I'll stay with you," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Why didn't you call?" The question was out before he could stop it.

"You know why," she said, all the fight leaving her and a feeling of hollowness left. "You told me not to call. So I haven't. I'm trying to respect your wishes. I'm trying to be a good friend. For once."

"Mary..." She cut him off with an abrupt gesture.

"Not now," she said. Marshall stared at her, then silently sank down into the chair on the other side of the crib. The enormity of the damage he had wreaked on their relationship hit him anew. His best friend didn't feel like she could rely on him anymore, that he wouldn't be there for her. And of course, he couldn't, not if he was to maintain his relationship with his fiancée. Eyes shutting against a sudden suspicious wetness, he leaned back into the chair and continued his silent self-recrimination .

Several hours later, Mary wearily glanced at her watch – 6:00 a.m. Hopefully the doctor would be through soon on his rounds. She was rather glad Marshall was still here, even though he was asleep. He could help interpret doctor speak. She studied his inert form. He looked worn, haggard almost, his age beginning to catch up with him. Was it just the new job responsibilities that were having this effect on him? Or were the impending nuptials more stressful than she thought? The strain in their relationship couldn't possibly be helping either.

Mary bent over the crib once again, the back of her hand on Norah's fevered brow. "Okay, Bug," she whispered, "this has got to stop. You are all I have now. You have to get better. You have to." She felt the unwelcome tears constrict her throat again. "I don't have anyone else."

Marshall listened in anguish as the little scene unfolded in front of him. Mary felt completely alone. He had done that to her. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Somehow he had to fix this. Somehow.

* * *

Marshall pushed number three on his speed dial, listening to one, two, three rings before Stan picked up. He greeted his old boss and regretfully relayed the news about Norah. Stan was concerned, asking about Norah's condition and then how Mary was holding up.

Marshall hesitated a microsecond. "Not good," he said. "She's barely holding it together." He had escaped out to the parking lot to make this call, and leaned back against the GMC, idly drawing stick figures in the thin layer of dust on the door. A small prick of irritation shot through him. Abby was supposed to have taken the truck to be washed.

Stan quickly processed everything his former inspector told him, knew the mental state Mary would be in. "At least she has you to help her through," he said, then paused as Marshall didn't reply.

Marshall felt the unwelcome hitch in his voice. "Stan," he said, then stopped.

"Marshall?" his old boss questioned, concern seeping through the phone line. More was going on than just Norah being ill. "What's wrong?"

"Everything." The blurted response surprised Marshall as well as Stan. "Stan, it's all gone wrong."

"With the job?" Stan probed gingerly. "Or with Mary." He had wondered how Mary would handle Marshall's engagement and how it would affect the friendship.

"I've made a terrible mistake and I don't know how to fix it." His pride wavered but the desire to get advice from a man he admired and trusted won out and Marshall told him everything.

"I've lost my best friend and I want her back." The older man grimaced, wishing he were there in person, to be able to give some kind of comfort. The waver in the new chief's voice told him a lot about the level of distress he was experiencing. Marshall and Mary. He felt more for them than he had for any other inspectors that had worked for him over the years. He had truly hoped they would acknowledge their feelings for each other. He ran his hand over his bald pate. He wasn't the oblivious doofus some assumed he was. He had eyes and he had seen plenty over the years. He stayed out of his inspector's private lives, but Marshall was asking for his opinion.

Stan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Marshall, I've known you for over a decade. In some ways, you're like the son I never had. I've watched you grow into your job. I've watched you grow into your partnership, your friendship with Mary. I've watched how you cover each other, I've watched how you communicate, I've watched how you fight, I've watched how you love." He took a breath, wondering if he should say the rest of what he was thinking. _In for a penny, in for a pound_.

"When you were shot, I waited with Mary at the hospital. She sobbed for you, Marshall. Great big painful cries I wouldn't have believed her capable of had I not witnessed it. Love is a crazy thing, Inspector. And we can't control it. It expresses itself in different ways. Marshall, you haven't lost her. She's doing what you asked. For the probably the first time in her life. And the fact that she's holding to her promise means something. You are important to her. And she doesn't want to lose you either. I want you to be happy son. Decide what you want Marshall. Decide _who_ you want. And then talk to her. Tell her how you feel."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Abby hung up her desk phone and gathered the documents together for the file on her suspect. Moving briskly down the hallway, she tried to resolutely put the argument of the previous evening out of her head. It had been her suggestion to postpone the wedding date so Marshall could have a chance to settle into his new position. She hadn't wanted their wedding day to be overshadowed by concerns from the office. Now, six months down the road, she wanted to set a date and Marshall was being uncharacteristically uncooperative.

She had barely seen him the last week. With Norah in the hospital and Marshall covering Mary's workload, he was rarely home before ten. Each time she tried to bring up the wedding date, her fiancé deflected. Abby was digging her heels in. This was not how it was supposed to be. She opened the door to the viewing room, flipping open the file and preparing to watch the questioning of the suspect.

No, this was not how things were supposed to turn out after Marshall talked to Mary. Mary stopped calling. Abby was aware the volume of calls had decreased precipitously. They always related to work now. But Marshall was different. He seemed sad, a little bit lost. She hadn't meant for him to push Mary out of his life completely. The few occasions she had seen the two of them together, she could feel the difference in their dynamic. Mary was distancing herself. And Marshall was unhappy about that. She could see it in the dejected way his eyes tracked her when she parried each effort to reach out to her and physically put distance between them.

She looked up sharply when the suspect, Aaron Wild according to the arrest report, made a statement that was in contrast to an earlier one. Abigail studied the young man on the other side of the glass. Such a waste, another life down the tubes due to the drug trade.

It worried her more than she liked to admit, that Marshall wouldn't agree to a wedding date, hell, he wouldn't even talk about it.

* * *

"Hello,," Mary answered, her voice drained and flat.

"Mary, it's Stan. Marshall called me. What can I do to help?" Mary swallowed hard, fighting to keep the tears at bay. Dear, sweet Stan. She had felt his absence, even before Norah had gotten ill.

"Subscription to pie of the month club?" she suggested, trying to put on a cheerful face, but falling short. "There's nothing really. She's getting the best care possible. It's a waiting game right now. Mark is here now, he'd been out of town when I brought her in, so at least I can take a break from being in the room 24/7." Exhaustion carried through the phone line. Stan frowned. Someone needed to take the situation in hand.

"Mary, let people help you. You need to do that for yourself. Let Marshall help you." Mary leaned against the wall in the corridor outside Norah's room. She watched dully as the food cart made it's rounds, not even tempted to steal a tray. She felt empty, so depleted of energy she felt the pull of gravity coaxing her to slide down to the floor.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Mary," Stan said, his heart breaking, "don't close him out." He had never envisioned anything coming between the two partners.

"He asked me to Stan. I had to let him go so he could be with Abigail. I can't let him back in because I'll be destroyed when he closes that door again." She was openly crying now, the overwhelming emotional assaults of the last few months crushing her very soul.

Stan closed his eyes, mentally running through his calendar for the next few days, wondering if he could get away for a day, get back to Albuquerque. "Listen to me, Inspector, he won't shut you out. Marshall cares for you, very deeply. You need someone to draw strength from right now, and he is right there. He wants to help. He _needs _to help. Let him." He silently begged her to listen to him.

"I need to get back to Norah," she said, wanting to shut down the line of conversation. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed off the wall, standing up straight.

Stan made one last effort, before she cut him off. "When you get Norah well, you and Marshall need to have a talk, a serious one, about your feelings."

"Already had one and that didn't go so well, for me at least." Defeat and hurt were in her voice.

Stan jumped in. "Talk again. He's unhappy. You're unhappy. Talk. Now you go take care of Norah and think about what I said."

* * *

Marshall quietly unlocked the front door and let himself in. He set his briefcase down on the table in the darkened hallway and gingerly made his way down to his bedroom. He was far later than he had expected. With taking up the slack on Mary's witnesses, he never seemed to leave the office and he made time to swing by the hospital each day too. He stopped when he saw the dim light filtering from under the bedroom door. He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was 1:00 in the morning. Abby was waiting up for him. This couldn't be good.

Mentally girding his loins, he opened the door and peered in. Abby was sitting up against the headboard, a neglected book in her hands.

"Hey," he said softly, "everything alright?" He sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to pull off his boots.

"No," she responded in a neutral tone. Marshall looked back at her in surprise. "I need to know exactly what your conversation with Mary consisted of. The exact words that were used." She regarded his confusion dispassionately. "I accepted your word that you talked to her and that everything was okay. But now I need to know." She closed her book and rested her hands primly on the cover.

Marshall was far too tired to even try and figure out what was going on in her mind. A tiny voice in his head informed him he never had to work to figure out what was going on in Mary's mind. He ran his hand through his hair. "I told her that she needed to let me go, to release me so I could move on with my relationship with you. I told her I loved you deeply. I told her I loved her too, that if she called I would come, every time. And that had to change. Mary understood. She wants me to be happy. She has released me." He looked into Abby's tense face. "Is that not enough? What more do I need to do?"

Abby regarded this man she was pledged to, this man who was so intelligent, who was so brave and wondered how he could be so scared. "You need to talk to her again. And this time tell her the complete truth." Marshall's confusion was almost comical. "Tell her you were in love with her, not just that you love her. Tell her you are still in love with her if that is the case. Demand to know what her feelings are for you. Mary is never going to be the one to admit her feelings first. And as far as I can tell you have never told her the true extent of your feelings. And don't even try to tell me you have never been in love with her. Get this out in the open and resolved, one way or another. I can't take this sadness that surrounds you now. It's like you have a hole and you do. It's the space that Mary used to occupy.

"I know you love me, Marshall. That isn't what is in question here. I believe you love her too. I believe she is your first choice and that you believe she would never choose you so you have settled. I don't want to be the one you settled for. No arguments, just, when she gets Norah home, talk to her." Abby placed her book on the nightstand, turned her back to him and pulled the covers up.

Marshall sat for a moment, then walked out silently to the living room and sank down on the sofa. He didn't know if he could do it again. Have another conversation with Mary. The last one had not been the honest talk he had meant to have. It was just when he told her he loved her...she had looked at him, the seconds dragging by before softly breathing an "Oh" and he had immediately backpedaled. He had wanted to tell her how he had been in love with her for so many years, but that she obviously didn't feel the same way and he had to move on with Abby. Some stubborn sense of pride or desire to not cause Mary pain, made him say that wasn't how he meant it. That he loved what they had between them; the easy going friendship, the way they knew each others minds. That was of course, true. As was his statement that if she called, he would come. Every time. He had hoped that she might divine from that statement how much he loved her. That he would always drop whatever he was doing to come to her. But Mary being Mary...He had been dishonest, with himself, Mary and Abby, by not stating clearly, _I was in love with you_. And now Abby was demanding a redo.

* * *

Mary gingerly opened the door to the hospital chapel, peering into the dim interior before walking into the generic holy space. She glanced around, grateful she had the place to herself. The plain cross on the wall, the single candle burning on the tiny altar. It felt bare somehow, nothing like the elaborate churches of her youth. She slipped into one of the pews, sighed when she saw there was no kneeler. This felt like a time when she needed to be on her knees. To pray to a god she wasn't sure she believed in any longer, to save her baby's life.

Church had been a rare place of refuge growing up, a place to feel safe, where there was no yelling, no 'uncles', no endless list of chores to be completed. She used to love the scent of incense, the light that shone in through the stained glass windows, the smooth worn wood of the pews, the low crackling that came from the bank of votive candles set just to the right of the St. Therese of Lisuex statue. The Little Flower. Mary had been fascinated by her as a child, because she had suffered in silence and died young. Mary did not suffer in silence. She suffered loudly and she had no intention of dying young.

Fingers reached instinctively for the medal at her throat. Remembering too late she no longer had the Medal of Mary. A constant companion for over thirty years. Gone, like so much else in her life. Her faith, her father, Stan, Raph, Marshall. Maybe her Norah. She felt she may break with the continual string of losses. She focused her attention inward, begging silently that the only person on the planet that unconditionally loved her would not be taken from her. Fingers twitched anxiously; she wished she had a rosary, the movement of the beads through her fingers would calm her, help her focus. A memory of Sr. Brigid standing in front of the class of second graders from St. Therese parish school floated into her consciousness. _Our Holy Mother will always listen to your prayers. _Mary slipped from the pew and onto her knees on the tile floor, clasping her hands in front of her. _Mary, please ask your Son to save my baby. You know what it is to lose a child. Please._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Delia stopped at the open door to Marshall's office. She frowned as she took in the haggard appearance of her boss.

"Hey Chief," she said quietly, "how's Norah today?" Marshall looked up from his paperwork and shook his head.

"Still touch and go, I'll check in with Mary again at noon." He rubbed his hand across his forehead. The stress of carrying Mary's load, plus his own at the office, of being the pillar of strength Mary needed him to be, of trying to placate Abigail, was all wearing on him.

"How is Mary?" Delia waited patiently while Marshall sat back in his chair, gazing at his old partner's desk. When he looked back at his inspector, Delia was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"Bad. She's barely holding it together. Her baby may very well die." His voice cracked as he pictured sweet little Norah, snuggling into her mother's chest. "She won't let me help her, comfort her. She's pushing me away. If Norah doesn't make it, Mary will be destroyed." _And I will be too._

Delia swiftly crossed the office to lay her hand on Marshall's arm. "Hey, Chief, it'll be okay. I have faith. Even God himself wouldn't dare incur the wrath that would be directed towards him should that child be allowed to die. That baby will survive through sheer force of will on her mother's part." She grasped his arm briefly and smiled at him. Marshall nodded before disengaging from her touch. "Is there anything I can do?"

Marshall shook his head. "Beyond praying and staying out of Mary's way, no."

Delia chuckled. "I meant for you. You have too much on your plate. Let me help." She was feeling helpless in the face of so much suffering by those she cared about.

Marshall regarded her, wondering again about her strength of character. He knew her offer was genuine. As prickly as Mary's relationship was with Delia, Marshall understood that a bond of a sort had been formed, and Delia truly wanted to help.

"You can take her visit to the Anolete's. Cory needs a reaming out and I don't believe Mary had the opportunity before Norah got sick."

* * *

Marshall ran down the corridor, arriving at the entrance to Norah's room breathless and scared. Mary's phone call had shaken him deeply. Try as he might, he couldn't put the hysterical cries out of his mind. He skidded to a halt, taking in the flurry of activity, the nurses and the doctor crowded around the tiny bed, working feverishly on the little girl. He scanned the blinking machines, quickly realizing the numbers they were flashing were bad. Very bad. He scanned the room and found Mary shaking in Mark's arms, both of them focused intensely on the small crib. Mary was clutching Mark's forearm tightly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Marshall crossed over to them on shaky legs, carefully staying clear of all the activity surrounding the bed.

"What's happened?" he asked. Mary looked up and trembled. She released her hold on Mark's arm and reached out to Marshall. Mark stepped back, allowing Marshall to step into Mary's personal space.

"She coded," he said softly. Marshall looked at him aghast. He slid his arm around Mary's waist and drew her into his side as they watched the medical team tending Norah. Time suspended as he watched the fast, efficient movements of the nurses. Finally, the doctor stepped back and came over to them. He explained carefully that they were able to start Norah's heart again and that for the moment she was stable. The doctor left the room, followed shortly after by the nurses. One of them spoke briefly to Mark, who then moved over to the crib and gently stroked the head of his baby. Marshall led Mary over to the recliner, sat down and unceremoniously pulled her down on his lap. She crumpled into him. Marshall recognized the signs. She was just shutting down. It was all too much. The emotional turmoil of the past few months: Marshall considered them - her father's death, Brandi's reappearance, their balcony discussion and subsequent estrangement, his impending nuptials, Norah's illness. He looked at the woman in his arms and marveled she hadn't collapsed before. She was trying to do this all on her own. _And you don't have to. I wish you'd let me help._

Marshall settled back in the chair and tightened his hold on Mary, knowing he would have only a precious few minutes before she pulled herself together and vacated his lap, putting as much distance as possible between them, even though he knew she wanted him there. He had heard the desperate need in her voice through the terrified gasps as she had begged him to come. The warm, heavy weight of her pressing against him somehow made her more real to him. She was a big woman and had not yet lost all her pregnancy weight. Hard thing to do when you have a baby at thirty-nine he mused.

"Mark, is she okay?" The question was tremulous. Marshall understood she was scared to check for herself. Mark turned towards them and smiled reassuringly.

"She's still with us. Come on, see for yourself." He held his hand out encouragingly. Mary pushed none too gently against Marshall's chest and levered herself off his lap. Mark put a protective arm around her shoulders and together they stood guard over their child.

* * *

Marshall sat in the recliner beside Norah's bed as Mary paced the hospital room, trying to take in the doctor's words. He studied the young pediatrician, Dr. Paller according to the name embroidered on his white coat, hearing Mary's words in his head, _What is he – twelve?_ The doctor plundered on, listing the possible ramifications of the disease: hearing loss, seizures, heart and kidney problems. Mary had just experienced the euphoria of the doctor's reassurance that Norah was out of danger. How could he snatch it away from her so quickly?

Dr. Paller finished his recitation of doom and exited the door, followed quietly by Marshall. He detained him a moment in the hallway, had a low-voiced conversation, waving over Mark when he spotted him trotting down the hall. Mark's expression of relief quickly changed to one of concern, much as Mary's had. Nodding understanding at the pediatrician's list of things to watch, both men waited for him to walk out of earshot.

"Mary?" Mark asked in some trepidation. Marshall shook his head.

"Not good," he murmured. "She has reached her breaking point." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "She won't let me help her."

Mark looked at him quizzically. Mary and Marshall were the proverbial peas in a pod. Frowning, Mark realized he hadn't seen much of Marshall lately. Of course the man was getting married, something which Mark had, quite frankly, been surprised to learn. He had always felt there was something there between his former wife and her partner.

"Mary doesn't let much of anybody help her, even me with Norah. Everything okay with you two?" Mark watched him out of one eye, the other looking towards the door of Norah's room.

"No." Marshall didn't elaborate and Mark didn't press, just clapped the tall man on the shoulder and hurried to his daughter.

* * *

Abby watched from the doorway, moved at the same time she was distressed. Marshall was sitting in the recliner chair next to the hospital crib, Norah's small body relaxed in sleep against his chest. Her fiancé had his head back, eyes closed, gently rubbing the baby's back. Mary was nowhere to be seen. Her heart constricted in an uncomfortable way. She longed to see Marshall holding one of their children like that, so tenderly, so protectively.

Her lips compressed as she remembered the recent night Marshall had spent at the hospital, the night he thought they would lose her. Abby had not been at her finest when he finally came home. She had lashed out at him, until he dissolved in tears, letting out everything he had been holding in, trying to be strong for Mary. Abby had feared for one horrifying moment that Norah had died. She had gathered her shattered lover in her arms and held on as he sobbed. Much as Marshall had held Mary that first night at the hospital. Marshall had finally been able to choke out that the baby was holding on, that Mary, Jinx and Brandi were all wrecks, that he couldn't be the pillar for all of them and Abby too.

She looked up as she heard heels clacking down the sterile tiles of the corridor behind her. Mary was coming down the hall, her usual no-nonsense stride and sense of purpose missing. Dark circles under her eyes testified to many sleepless nights and worry filled days. Marshall's friend smiled wanly at his fiancée.

"Hey," Mary said quietly, peering inside the room, an almost smile touching her lips at the sight that greeted her. Marshall's protective hold on her daughter tugged at something in her heart.

"Marshall really loves Norah," Abby observed, watching Mary nod absently.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "He'll make a good dad," she glanced at Abby, threw her a tight smile. The smile morphed into a genuine one, throwing Abby into some confusion until she glanced behind her and saw Stan McQueen striding down the hall. Mary pushed past her and accepted Stan's embrace.

"How you holding up, kid?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"Better," she said guardedly. "Norah is out of the woods, but there are a lot of scary possible complications." Stan looked past her, nodded to Abigail, then jerked his head to the side, indicating she should vamoose. He needed to have a private conversation with his former inspector.

* * *

Mary waited impatiently for the nurse to come with the release paperwork. She paced the hospital room, Norah held tightly in her arms.

"What the hell are they doing? Waiting for the Surgeon General to sign off on this ?" She directed her comments towards Marshall, who slowly stood up and walked over, gently prying Norah from her mother's death grasp. Obviously Jinx had been in earlier, the little girl was dressed in a pink onesie with a frilly pink skirt to match.

"Mary," he said quietly, looking kindly into her worried eyes. "It's okay. Norah is okay." His former partner gazed up at him guardedly. Fingers suddenly nerveless released her daughter into the secure hold of her boss. She watched as he tucked the little girl into the crook of his arm, smiling as small fingers reached up for his nose.

"Hey you," he said, amusement clear in his voice, "you're going to give Uncle Marshall a complex. My schnoz isn't that big." He bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. "Today is a big day. You get to go home. Maybe mommy won't be so grumpy once she gets you back home." Looking up, Marshall met Mary's green eyes and smiled. Her lips curled up in a smirk.

"You think you've seen grumpy?" she asked tartly. "Marshall," she said, a slight edge to her voice, "I appreciate you coming in today, but you don't have to stay. I don't want to keep you from Abigail." Her eyes slid away from his.

He shifted his attention from the baby to his partner. _No - former partner._ "You are not keeping me from Abigail. You need some help. I'm here to help. It's what friends do." Her eyes flew to his at the slight emphasis on the word friends. She was saved a response by the entrance of the nurse, with detailed care instructions.

Mary tried to listen, but found herself just wanting to spring herself and her daughter from this prison of a hospital. Plus she knew Marshall was listening closely and would tell her anything of import. She pulled herself up short. Falling into old habits again, relying on Marshall. Snippets of her conversation with Stan kept swimming to the forefront of her thoughts. _Don't freeze him out, kid. He needs you as much as you need him._ Well, she would let him help her get Norah home. Mark was at a client's, Jinx had a class to teach, Brandi was, well Brandi. She needed the help, hard as that was to admit. And Marshall was really the only constant, reliable person in her life. At least he had been. Until he'd told her she couldn't depend on him anymore. She had to stop thinking like this.

Turning to him, she nodded as the nurse left. "Let's get the show on the road," she said, gesturing to the car seat and swinging the diaper bag up on her shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Abby watched from her car, parked in the lot across the street from the Sunshine Building. Marshall had told her that Mary was only working half days until Norah got a little stronger. She checked her watch. She should be leaving any minute now. She took a sip of coffee from her mug, quickly placing the cup in the holder as she saw the tall blonde emerge from the door. Pushing open her door, Abby hurried to meet Mary as she walked to her van.

Mary's surprise was evident, turning to confusion, then plain impatience.

"Abby, everything okay?" she asked trying to move around her to gain access to her van. Abigail firmly planted herself in front of the driver's side door. Mary glanced up at the clear blue Albuquerque sky and prayed for patience. She had to be nicer to Abby, for Marshall if no other reason.

"We need to talk," Abby said shortly. "I know you've had your hands full with Norah and I'm very happy she is finally home from the hospital. But I have something I need to discuss with you. It won't take long if we can cut the crap and be honest with each other for five minutes."

Mary was watching the red-head warily. A tendril of fear was threading through her gut that Abby was going to ask her cut all contact with Marshall. She had been trying, trying so hard to do as Marshall had requested. Anything to keep some small contact going, to maintain something of their friendship. To be able to see him everyday.

"Are you in love with Marshall?" The blunt question hung in the air between them, Mary's open mouthed stare evidence of her shock. It was a nagging question the inspector had been reluctantly asking of herself lately. The hard look Abby was giving her wouldn't be easily turned away.

Mary closed her mouth and sighed. "I love him," she said quietly, "I don't know that I'm in love with him. I don't know that I know what it feels like to be in love." She eyed the door of her van longingly. "What's this about, Abby? I've done what Marshall asked, I've backed off. It was important to him, to you and I've released him, per his request. What more can I do?"

Abby's eyes turned earnest. "Mary, you do know he has loved you for years? He finally accepted you would never feel the same and moved on. Except you are still there, in the middle of our relationship." Abby paused, the sound of a firetruck's wail echoing in the distance. "He can't let you go. Mary, if you don't love him in that way, I need you to tell him, to push him away so he can move forward."

Mary looked at the tall red head, feeling a pang of sympathy. The detective was fighting for her future, for her own happiness. "Abby, you are asking me to give up just about the very most important thing in my life, and that's my friendship with Marshall. I've backed off, because Marshall's happiness is important to me. I miss him. But I've stayed away because he asked me to. I don't want to give him up completely. And if you need me to be out of the picture to have a successful relationship, than maybe something is wrong with _your _relationship with Marshall and not mine. Now, I have to get home to my daughter." She raised her hand with her keys and waved Abby to move aside.

Abby felt the blood drain from her face and stepped away from the van in a daze. _Maybe something is wrong with __**your **__relationship with Marshall and not mine._

* * *

Mary woke with a start, her heart racing. She listened intently in the smoky darkness of her bedroom. Silence. Flopping back down on her pillows, she put a hand on her hammering heart. Since bringing Norah home from the hospital she hadn't slept well. She got up to check on her multiple times through the night. To make sure she was still breathing. To make sure she was really there in her crib and not back at the hospital.

Tonight though, it wasn't the fitful whimpers coming through the baby monitor that had woken her. It was the dream. Mary hadn't thought about that particular encounter in years. Why now? She pushed the covers aside, as her body still felt heated. The barn. Treena. Horses. Bad guys. _Marshall. _ Dear God, Marshall kissing her like there was no tomorrow. Maybe it was the conversation with Abigail that had triggered it. _Are you in love with Marshall?_ Abby's words floated back to her. She ached for him. She literally hurt because the friendship, the partnership was gone and she had...nothing. Nothing but this longing inside her. Was that love? Was this desire that Marshall be happy, no matter the cost to herself, was that love?

Mary restlessly turned on her side and stared at the bedside clock. The red digits read 2: 24. Closing her eyes again, she tried to return to sleep. This time her overactive brain supplied the balcony scene to her again. Pain ached in her chest as she heard those words in a loop in her head. _"If you call, I will come, every time."_ He would come for her, he couldn't help himself. That was why she had to be the strong one. Marshall had to be happy. It was imperative. She had to do this for him, make sure he could be happy. Because she loved him. Tears slipped down the side of her face. _ I love him. Why was this so hard to admit?_

Her eyes flew open. He had said those magical words first. _I love you._ What did it mean? 'I love you' followed by 'if you call, I will come?' The pain in his voice. He had definitely been distressed. Could it be that he stilled loved her? Mary wasn't blind. She knew her partner had had feelings for her in the past, had tried to express those feelings. She had deflected, deliberately misunderstood or simply run away. It terrified her to think about letting him get so close that she would give him her heart. It gave another person so much power. But Marshall had Abby now, was going to marry her. Whatever feelings he may have had at one time, surely he no longer felt them? Not when he had pledged to another woman.

And now, when it was too late, she realized there was no other person who could fill this hole in her life. Soft cries came to her ears and Mary flung the covers aside, trudging into her daughter's room, wanting to add her own whimpers to Norah's.

* * *

Marshall lay in bed, his book on the inventor Nicola Tesla abandoned on his chest, listening to the sounds of Abby's breathing and his own self-recriminations. Mary's look of hurt on that balcony came to him over and over. Sighing, he rolled over and turned off the lamp. He tried to shake the feeling of failing Mary. Unwelcome images of finding Mary in that dank basement came to his mind. Major failure there. He was lucky to have found her alive. The wild, panicked look in her eyes as he descended the stairs would haunt him forever. Her heaving trembling body as he took her in his arms was similar to how she felt in his arms when he arrived to the hospital upon Norah's admission. Total terror.

He turned on his other side and looked at Abby, her face relaxed in sleep. He smiled, gently reaching over to smooth a strand of hair off her face. He loved the spray of freckles over her nose and her auburn hair. He loved her. She made him happy. Her sweet, cheerful nature was so polar opposite of Mary. Why then, was he so conflicted? Was it just that he had loved his partner for so many years? Moving on had been easier than he had expected. Mary's expedition to Mexico with that asshat Faber had supplied the impetus he needed to finally move forward. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she knew what he was talking about in his little speech to her right before she fled to the sunny beaches of Mexico. Pretty clear signal that she didn't return his feelings.

Was he really willing to forgo his happiness with Abby, for an iffy maybe at best with Mary? What if he had the conversation with Mary that everyone was telling him he should, and she said yes, I love you too? What would he do then? Would he throw Abby over just like that? No, the thought. I can't do that. I don't *want* to do that. What he did want was his friendship back. Everything on an even keel again. Yes, that was what he wanted he decided, as he leaned down to nuzzle a kiss on Abby's neck.

* * *

Abby waited stoically for Marshall to return home. The ticking of the living room clock was loud in her ears. She sat motionlessly on their settee, the lack of movement unusual for her. Breath in and out of her body – she tried to focus on that, to keep herself from a complete meltdown. Oscar was hiding out in the spare bedroom. Even the dog knew something bad was coming, Abby thought grimly. She remembered the day she first met him, the tall handsome marshal with the easy grin and killer blue eyes. They had been easy and comfortable with each other. She had asked around when she got back to the office. The reports that came in were universally glowing, but a few came with a cautionary note too. He was extremely close to his partner and no one seemed to know for sure, just how close. She had eventually asked him about Mary, after she had a few opportunities to observe them together. He had assured her they were just friends and partners, although they were very close. He owned up to that up front.

"_She's my best friend. No one knows me as well as she does. You can expect to be checked out. She has my back and will want to know I'm not dating a serial killer."_

Abby looked up at the sound of his key in the door. He walked down the hallway, exhaustion evident in his face. She studied him in the pale yellow glow of the corner lamp. He had aged over the last few months. He wasn't the same cheerful, easy-going man she had met two years ago. _God, have I really done that to him? Made him that unhappy?_ She shook her head, noting Marshall's frown as he saw her sitting empty handed in the too quiet room.

"Sit Marshall," she said in a level voice. He cautiously set down his briefcase and sank down beside her. He just looked at her, waiting. Abby looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously twirling her engagement ring around her finger. "This isn't working," she said finally. "Please, let me talk," she beseeched him as he opened his mouth. Reaching over, Abby drew his hand into hers. She studied his hand a moment, that hand she knew so well, that hand that she loved to feel on her body.

"I know you love me. I know that Marshall. But a girl needs to know that she is the first love in her husband's life, not a distant second. I know you have tried. You have tried so hard." She reached up and laid her fingers against his lips as he started to protest, a knife turning in her belly at the pain in his eyes. "The heart wants what the heart wants. And yours wants Mary. It has for years. I know you have done as I asked. Told Mary to back off. But you are so unhappy. You need her. She has become an essential part of you. And I don't think I'm that essential to you."

"Abby, I love you!" It burst out of him in a panic. Abby regarded his wide blue eyes sadly.

"I know you do, sugarbug. But you don't love me enough." Marshall was shaking his head.

"Don't call me sugarbug." It was curt, unexpected on both sides. "And I do love you enough. My god, I've given up my best friend for you." There was silence for a moment, the sounds of a silent house alarmingly loud.

Abby shook her head slowly. "See, me calling you sugarbug has bothered you from the beginning hasn't it? But you didn't say anything because you love me. I've heard Mary call you doofus, douchebag and worse. You always just smile. It's because it's coming from **her**. Any term of endearment from her that you can get, even couched in an insult, you will take. And I know you've tried to give her up, but your heart hasn't. Because your heart can't. I'm not faulting you. We can't control who we love. And you've been trying to control who you love."

She shook her head. "Marshall, I've seen you with Norah. I couldn't stand for you to look at our child..." her voice hitched, " to look at our child and wish it was Mary's." Marshall's look of horror was of little comfort.

She slowly pulled off her engagement ring. Closing her fingers tightly over it, she remembered how very happy she was when Marshall gave it to her. She smirked. She actually thought at the time that he had chosen her over Mary. Prying open Marshall's clenched fingers she gently deposited the ring in his palm.

"Talk to her Marshall. Flat out ask her how she feels. I believe she does love you, but is unable or unwilling to admit it. Have a fully honest discussion for once in your life."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mary's motherhood enhanced hearing picked up the soft ping indicating a text message had come in. Blindly feeling for her phone on the nightstand, she sat up in alarm when she saw who it was from.

_I'm at your door._

_M._

Leaping out of bed, she hurried to the front door, wrenching it open to find her best friend standing dejectedly on the step. One look at his face and she reached out for his hand, tugging him inside, amazed as always that he was thoughtful enough not to ring the doorbell or call because it might wake Norah.

"What's wrong?" she asked pulling him along to the living room. She pushed him down onto the sofa and stood in front of him, hands on hips, searching his face for clues in the dim illumination given from the light over the stove that Mary left on each night. It had to be bad if he was showing up at her door, given their change in status. She had a bad feeling in her gut, her thoughts flying to his parents.

"It's Abby," he said, his voice hitching. He peered up at her, his hand raising in a gesture of supplication. "She's called off the wedding," he said, the anguish clear in his voice, "she doesn't want to marry me." Tears were rolling down his cheeks. The sting of rejection enveloped him. Mary stood stock still, staring down at him, uncertain what to do. She closed her eyes. _What would you have done six months ago?_ Taking his outstretched hand she sank down beside him, drew his head down on her shoulder and let him cry.

His mumbled words were hard to decipher but eventually she caught some of what he was saying. "After everything I gave up for her, it wasn't enough. She wanted more. I gave up you for her. I gave you up. How could I have possibly shown her how much I loved her other than giving you up?" He lifted his head, red rimmed eyes distressing her.

"Marshall, I'm so sorry," she whispered, hesitantly reaching out to run her fingers down his cheek, damp with tears. "Was...was it because of me?" Mary felt a dread in her heart, thinking about her recent conversation with the redhead. If she was the cause of Marshall's pain...

Marshall sat up and met her gaze. She saw the surrender in his eyes. He heaved his shoulders and his lips curved up in a mirthless smile. "Mary, I've loved you for as long as I've known you. I knew you didn't reciprocate those feelings, so I tried to move on. But Abigail knew. She knew that while I loved her, I loved you more and she just wasn't willing to be runner-up. I couldn't convince her I loved her enough. Even giving up our friendship wasn't enough because I couldn't make my heart give you up. So yes, it was because of you, but not anything you did. It was me and my inability to be honest with everyone. I should have told you flat out I loved you. I tried so often in ways that left you an out. And I should have just told you, no outs, no opportunities to convince yourself I meant otherwise." He sank back against the sofa, and laid his head back on the cushions. Going on ten years – a quarter of his life – he had spent loving the woman next to him. How had he ever thought he could just move on from that?

"I was so afraid of losing you, of losing our friendship. I didn't want to scare you or push you and I always left you an out." His voice was tired, resigned. Mary watched him in silence, her insides so jumbled up she was clueless how to respond.

"I just wanted someone to love me. And Abigail does. She deserves more and she knows it. She demands it. And I can't give it to her. I want to. I just can't." He paused, then opened his eyes and looked at her again. "You were right when you said I was going to die a lonely old man." Abruptly he stood up and took a step towards the door, Mary's heart cracking wider as each stride took him farther away from her.

"Marshall," she called out softly, "wait, please." He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Keeping his back to her, his stiff posture kept her from approaching too close.

"I'm going to go get a hotel room and drink myself into oblivion. I've made a mess of everything, I've deeply hurt Abigail. I know I've hurt you. I just want to forget." He opened the door, ignoring her pleas to stay and talk. He walked out to his car, even in his misery smirking at the irony of Mary Shannon wanting to talk about his emotions...or anything.

* * *

Cory Anolete scowled at his WitSec inspector, nodding agreement to the conditions she was laying out. Mary was scowling back at him, fully aware she was like the teacher on the old Peanuts cartoons: 'mwa, mwa, mwa'. He wasn't taking in anything she was saying. He just wanted her out of his life. Her lips compressed. Seemed like that was the position everyone around her was taking lately.

While no one openly blamed her for Marshall's broken engagement, Mary heard the whispers, tried to disregard the sometimes venomous looks cast her way. The APD had become a very unpleasant environment. Mary had no idea that Abigail was so popular with all her co-workers. An icy silence fell each time she walked into the department. In her lowest moments, she felt hurt by the fact that Marshall didn't seem to have any animosity directed towards him. Everyone still greeted him, shook hands, shared information. It wasn't fair. She was taking the blame for something she didn't do. She had tried so hard, suffered so much to give Marshall the chance to have a life with Abby.

And it wasn't just the entire law enforcement population of Albuquerque and the fact that Abby wouldn't work with her. Brandi was planning to move out the next month, Kenny was gone, Stan was off in D.C., and Marshall. Marshall was pulling farther away each day. At least she had her Bug. Norah was happy to see her each day.

She wrenched her attention back to Cory, told him firmly to check in with her each day until further notice and sent him on his way. Opening the door to the mini-van, she stepped in and sat silently a moment. Prior to returning to D.C., Stan had talked with her at length about what she wanted from her life, about who she wanted in her life. She wanted Marshall in her life. She just had to figure out how to repair their relationship, before he withdrew so far from her she would never be able to reach him.

* * *

Marshall stared morosely at the empty walls of his apartment. He had taken the unfurnished studio sight unseen. One trip back to the house had retrieved some of his clothes and catching his eye as he walked past the office, an old beanbag chair, which he currently occupied. Multiple calls from Abigail pleading for him to come and take the rest of his possessions and discuss the status of the house went unanswered. He knew in his heart that this was no way to live. He was sleeping on the floor, when he could get to sleep anyway, eating the few meals he did at fast food places. He sat and stared at the walls in the evenings, his only companion his good friend Jack Daniels. He blocked each attempt from Mary to reach out to him. Delia and Stan too.

It pained him anew each time he thought about what a clusterfuck his life had become. All he wanted was to be loved. He had waited so long to find someone who would love him. For years he had held out hope that someone would be Mary. But finally recognizing Mary didn't feel that way towards him, never would feel that way, he had opened himself to the possibility of someone else loving him. And he had found Abby. He had – he did – love her. And he had screwed it up. Abby loved him but didn't want to marry him. She didn't want to marry him because he was still in love with Mary. Beyond all reason, he was still in love with Mary. He took a small sip of the whiskey, taking pleasure from the burn as it slid down his throat.

Pale gold liquid swirled in the glass as Marshall held it up to the light, the amber tints tempting him to chug himself into oblivion. The unwelcome buzz of his phone sounded loud in the silent room. The thought of ignoring it flitted through his mind, but long years of duty and responsibility had him reluctantly answering.

"Mann," he said shortly.

"Chief," Delia's breathless voice came over the line, " I need some back up and Mary is up in Santa Fe."

Marshall's eyes closed as he remembered telling Mary she could go up to Santa Fe earlier in the day to check out a potential witness threat.

"I'll be there in ten." He hung up and set his glass down. It would keep until he returned.

* * *

Days off somehow never went as planned Mary muttered to herself as she maneuvered Norah's car seat through the security door of the office. Her plans to take her daughter to the zoo were put on hold until she pulled the opt out form and got it delivered to Cory Anolete, signed, counter-signed by herself and delivered to Marshall's inbox. Putting Norah down by her desk, she stopped in surprise when she noticed Marshall sitting in his dark office.

She slowly approached his open door. He didn't appear to be working, but just sitting in the darkness. Apt, she thought. He was in a very dark place right now. Mary wouldn't have believed it possible for Marshall to sink into such a depression as he appeared to be in.

"Hey," she said softly. "Whatcha doing here on a Saturday?" He looked up at her somewhat vacantly and shrugged. He had lost weight, she noticed, his shoulders thin and his lean frame too bony.

Mary glanced back at Norah, then at Marshall and made a quick decision.

"I have to run to the Anolete's and give Cory an opt out form. He just turned eighteen last week and is adamant about leaving. Annaliese isn't happy, but Cory can do as he likes now. I had to bring Norah with me. Would you mind keeping an eye on her? It'll be a lot easier if I don't have to take her with me." She waited anxiously as Marshall considered, before nodding slowly. Mary was relieved. Marshall was withdrawing from so much social interaction she had been afraid he might say no. It used to be he would jump at the chance to watch Norah.

"Great. Her diaper bag is by the carrier. Everything you might need is in there. I shouldn't be long." She quickly walked over to Norah, leaned down to kiss her. "Bye, Bug. Be good for Uncle Marshall."

Marshall watched the happy little girl grabbing her feet and gurgling at him. He shoved to his feet and walked over to her, her big smile as she saw him approaching bringing a touch of a smile to his lips.

"Hi little Sunshine," he whispered, kneeling down next to her and freeing her of her car seat straps. Norah reached out for him and snuggled into his chest as he swung her up and against him, wrapping an arm securely around her. "You're all better now after your trip to the hospital. I've missed seeing you. Uncle Marshall has been having a hard time lately." Norah turned her head and looked up at him, eyes full of trust. "That's why I haven't been to see you in awhile. I've been too busy messing up my life." She reached out for his nose.

He moved back into his office and sat down, shifting the little girl into the crook of his arm. She started babbling again and Marshall felt something stir in the frozen tundra of his heart. Studying her, he saw the many similarities to Mary. The golden hair, the clear hazel eyes, the mouth he could tell would have a smirk perfected at a young age. She seemed to have more of Mark's temperament though; easy going, happy. He sincerely hoped she would grow up to be a happy person.

He swiveled his chair around to look at the pictures lined up on his credenza. He hadn't even had the energy to take down his engagement photo with Abigail. He probably should do that, made him seem pathetic to keep it up. Standing up, he walked over and picked the photo up, gazing at it a moment, then placed it in a drawer.

Norah pointed at the one of him and Mary. "Ma-ma," she said quite clearly, pointing at the photo.

"Yes," he said, a feeling a pride and delight running through him. "That's your mama. When did you start talking, hmm?" He realized that even had Mary been willing to fill him in on these milestones, he hadn't allowed her to talk to him lately. He picked the photo up, smiling as Norah's chubby finger pointed at Mary, and studied the shot more closely. Mary was definitely looking at him with some kind of emotion. He'd seen that expression before. On Abigail's face. Looking at him. He swallowed hard. Could it be that it was as Abigail had said and Mary did have feelings for him?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Wind whistled past his ears, ruffling his hair. The pavement echoed with the rhythmic thump of his feet as he ran along the street. At six in the morning, few people were out and about, which suited him just fine. The cool, crisp morning air was invigorating. Sweat was pouring down his face and had dampened the front of his shirt by the time he arrived back at his apartment. Marshall had started running again as a way to bring his mind to a perfect blank, so the final encounter with Abigail wouldn't keep presenting itself to him. After a strongly worded message had been left for him by Abigail's boss, he had finally met her at the house.

_He stared up at the lovely architectural structure from the front yard. So much hope and anticipation when he and Abby had moved in together. And they both loved this house. He never had told her the house had been Mary's suggestion. That would have involved explanations and dancing around a witness. But it was an omission, one of many. With a heavy sigh of resignation, Marshall trudged up the front walk and opened the door. He called out and Abby responded she was in the living room. He greeted Oscar when the large dog came trotting out from the back bedroom he claimed as his own. Marshall squatted down and petted him, enduring sloppy licks from the happy dog._

_After a strained exchange of small talk with Abby, he packed up the items that would fit in his truck and made arrangements for the furniture that Abby didn't want, to be picked up and delivered to his apartment. Abby calmly told him she would be returning to Dallas in a few weeks time. There were too many painful memories here she said, she wanted to go back to her friends and family. _

"_I hope you find what you're looking for, Marshall," she said, wrapping knick-knacks in the living room. "And I know what you're looking for." She carefully placed another item in the cardboard box by her feet. Auburn hair swung down as she bent over and hid her face. "You're looking for her." The hurt in her voice was plain._

"_Abby," he said, a little desperately, "please, don't." She stood up and wiped her hands against her jeans. They looked at each other. She was tall, Marshall thought, taller than Mary. Tall, slender, sweet, cheerful, loving. He had wanted to love her enough. He had tried. He just couldn't._

"_I loved...I love you, Marshall, more than I would have believed possible. I have enough self-respect though, to not commit myself to a man who loves another woman more than he loves me. The only outcome that would make all this pain both of us have gone through worth it, is if you at least get what you want more than anything. I love you enough to want that for you. And that is a life with Mary. Please don't wimp out and not take the chance with her." She finished the box she was packing and reached for the strapping tape._

Marshall grimaced as he thought about the silence in which they had finished packing up the house. Abby was making arrangements with a realtor to sell the house and they would split the proceeds, if there were any. In this market they would be fortunate if they didn't take a blood bath on it. He couldn't continue to live there though. Memories, as Abby had said.

The sun was just clearing the tops of the Sandia Mountains as Marshall unlocked his door and dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. He eyed the boxes lining the walls of the small space. The detritus of his life. The boxes had been haphazardly packed, no order to the items thrown in each. He knelt down and opened one box. A handful of books – The Complete Sherlock Holmes, A Brief History of Time, Dune, a biography of Abraham Lincoln; his college senior picture, a set of Marshals Service mugs, a paint spattered tee-shirt, a Rubik's cube, two seasons of Doctor Who DVDs, mismatched towels. He stared before a smile reluctantly crossed his face. A bottle of ketchup. Chaos. Much like his life at the moment.

He sat back on his haunches, thinking. No, his life wasn't chaos. That implied movement, action. His life was at a standstill, going nowhere. He trudged through each day, just wanting it to end. Abby was right. He couldn't be a wimp. Too soon, his heart screamed at him, it's too soon. He couldn't possibly consider anything with Mary right now though. He had to have time to heal. He hung his head, tears trickling down. He missed Abby and now she was leaving, not just him, but Albuquerque, firmly closing the door on any possibility of a reconcilement. He missed Mary too and that was all on him. He had pushed her away, made her promise something he didn't really want and now he was freezing her out again.

Slowly pulling items from the box, Marshall began putting them away, trying to restore some order. Plus it would be nice to have a mug for his coffee.

* * *

Funny how life turned out sometimes. After years of denial, Mary Shannon had finally admitted to herself that her feelings for her partner went far beyond those of friendship. And then Marshall had turned up on her doorstep and validated those feelings, telling her in language even she couldn't misconstrue that he loved her; had done so for years. And now...Mary's hands stilled in the hot soapy water. Now, she was very worried about Marshall. He had pulled away so far from everyone, even her, maybe especially her.

Mary quickly finished up the dishes and dried her hands, pausing to listen to the monitor a moment, then moving through the kitchen to the living room, where she sank down on the couch. Her top teeth worried her bottom lip as she thought about Marshall. He had to snap out of this lethargy, depression, whatever the hell one called it, that he was in. It was beginning to affect his work and was definitely affecting his health. He looked tired all the time and the weight loss was becoming somewhat alarming. He carried out the most basic of conversations with her and Delia, shutting down any avenues of discussion regarding non-witness related subjects.

Mary had gone so far as to talk with Shelley, voicing her concerns, wondering if she was blowing things out of proportion. Shelley had listened, a frown crossing her pretty face, then tilted her head to one side. Mary recognized the posture. She was about to be studied and then something unpleasant would come out of the good doctor's mouth. After a silent moment, Shelley had sat back in her chair, putting some physical distance between them.

"This is serious, Mary. You know Marshall better than anyone else. You know what this break up is doing to him emotionally. You have to stop the spiral."

"What can I do to help?" Anxious green eyes looked at the psychologist, looking for the magic cure that would bring her friend back to her.

"Tell him the truth. You know he has long harbored strong feelings for you." She held up her hand as Mary opened her mouth. "Don't try to BS me or yourself. It's true. You know it. Marshall is feeling a double rejection. First from you, then from Abby. The two women in his life. Let him know you aren't rejecting him. If you have feelings for him or could entertain having feelings for him, let him know. Don't push anything, but let him know that you are still there. He needs an anchor."

Mary gaped at her. "But Marshall is **my** anchor," she said stupidly.

Shelley had shaken her head, chestnut hair swinging around her elfin face. "Marshall has always been there for you," she said quietly. "Now you need to be there for him. Don't give up, keep trying."

Mary shook her head to clear it. Don't give up, Shelley had said. She walked into the nursery and watched her sleeping daughter. Maybe Norah was the key. Marshall loved Norah, she knew that for a certainty. She had seen the little bit of thawing that had taken place the day she left Norah with him, Sadness still surrounded him, but when he looked at Norah, his eyes weren't dead. Something sparked deep in their depths. He had lightly kissed the wispy blond hair before he handed her over to her mother. Norah had stretched out her little body, reaching for him again. Marshall had glanced quickly at Mary, then moved silently back into his office. Mary saw his face though.

Or maybe it was as Shelley had said, and she just had to tell him the truth. She had struggled with her feelings for years, pushing them down, pushing Marshall away. Until that day that Marshall pushed her away. She had been staggered when he requested she release him, suggested that they not be friends anymore. Pain had struck swiftly and deeply. It left her emotionally gasping for days, weeks, months afterward. Finally forced her into an admittance she had run from for years.

The unfairness of life struck her again. She got herself to a point where she was maybe ready to let him in a bit closer and he was freezing her out. Even Marshall had his breaking point she guessed. And he had broken. Mary knew he was hurting, she wanted to help, but how, when he wouldn't even talk to her?

* * *

Marshall ended his call and sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. His conversation with Stan had left him feeling unsettled. His former Chief had been uncharacteristically blunt. Marshall had been dodging his calls for several weeks and Stan finally called him on the office line, knowing he would be forced to pick up. Stan had offered condolences on his broken engagement, asked how Marshall was holding up, inquired after Mary and Norah. After listening to his Inspector's monosyllabic responses, Stan had given a frustrated sigh.

"_Listen to me, Inspector. You are hurting. I know that, but this has moved into self destructive behavior. You are harming yourself, you're harming your career, and you are hurting Mary. You think you are the first man who has been dumped by his fiancée? You are not unique and you do not have a monopoly on pain. Get a grip on yourself. Take a few days if you need to, get your head together. Stop pushing people away. Mary is very worried about you. Delia is worried about you. I'm worried about you. You need to start living again and stop just existing. You will get through this. Everybody who has ever loved and lost does." _

_Stan paused for breath. "And Marshall, don't discount Mary's feelings for you. Let her help you. Remember how frustrated you were when she wouldn't let you lend emotional support when Norah was hospitalized? Well, she's frustrated the same as you were. Let her help you."_

Marshall glanced out into the office. Mary was thankfully out on a witness visit, but sharp eared Delia had heard his end of the conversation, he was sure of that. Marshall walked out to the kitchenette and poured another cup of coffee. He added sugar and slowly walked over to the window. The Albuquerque skyline was pretty, the mountains in the distance calming somehow. He gazed out, sipping his coffee. He loved this city, loved this part of the country. He really couldn't imagine living anywhere else. He loved what he did for a living, protecting people. He loved Abigail, but she was moving on. He had to let her go. He turned around and surveyed the office. His eyes lit on Mary's desk. He loved Mary. She wasn't moving on. She was still there. He walked by Delia's desk, mustered up a weak smile and directed it towards her. The startled look on her face was telling, but she quickly recovered and returned the smile with her large bright one.

"How you doing today, Chief?" Genuine concern came through the words. "Can I get you anything?"

Marshall shook his head. "I'm fine," he said quietly, " but thanks for asking." He sat back down at his desk and pulled the newest intake file and completed MOU from his inbox. He quickly reviewed all the signature pages, made sure Mary had actually signed each one and initialed each of her signatures. He stared down at the children's names on the file. _Really? _ _Mary and Abigail_. He couldn't escape.

Stan was right. He needed to stop just existing. But how? He would need to think about what Stan told him. His advice was always sound and Marshall suspected Stan knew a thing or two about heartache.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Delia Parmalee followed Mary Shannon through the secured door of the WitSec office. Her eyes tracked her new partner as Mary cast a furtive glance into Marshall's office on her way to her desk. Delia noted the barely perceptible slowing of stride as Mary did a rapid assessment of Marshall, before continuing on to her desk. Bag thudded to the floor, shoulders hunched forward as she read through messages, scowl in place. The visit to Annaliese Anolete had not been pleasant. There had been lots of tears and Mary didn't handle tears well. Annaliese missed Cory, she was threatening to leave the program also.

Delia knew more than just the witness visit was bothering Mary. They had just barely gotten the distraught mother to agree to stay at least until she testified next month. Mary was going to contact Cory and get him to send a message to his mother. It was the ever present problem of Marshall that caused Mary the most concern. Delia was operating in the dark, her vast array of contacts surprisingly unknowledgeable about what had happened between Marshall and Abigail. Delia knew the engagement was off. She knew Marshall was in a deep depression. She knew Mary was concerned. She knew Marshall was pushing Mary away. She had witnessed several rebuffs herself. Always gentle, never unkind, but firm and consistent.

The estrangement of the two former partners was eating away at her. Delia saw the damage it did to each of them. They needed each other. She rather dearly wanted to know what the original event was that set all this in motion. She had the time frame pinpointed to about the time Stan left for D.C. First Mary was keeping Marshall at arm's length, now it was Marshall freezing Mary out.

A new intake packet sat on her desk. Sitting down, she pulled the file in front of her, opening it up to study her new witness data. As she read through the names and details her mind circled around the puzzle of her chief and her partner. It all tied in somehow to Marshall's engagement and subsequent broken engagement. Delia was not above a little helpful meddling. She had always refrained with these two though, sensing it would not be appreciated, but something needed to be done, and soon. For all their sakes.

* * *

Mary warily watched Marshall eating his lunch, alone, on the balcony. She had tried since the night he told her about his breakup with Abby, to reach out to him, but he had rebuffed her each time. Daily she felt the wall he was building between them strengthening, the small window he had left her to peer through slowly being bricked closed. Like in _The Cask of Amontillado_ her brain unexpectedly supplied her. Much like that prisoner, Mary wanted to scream as each successive brick was placed, rendering her goal of reaching him insurmountable. Was this how he had felt when she had tried to distance herself? Feeling a hovering presence she looked up, scowling at Delia as she stood by her desk, arms crossed.

"This has gone on long enough, Mary," Delia said bluntly. Brown eyes were snapping with resolve. Gold hoops swung from her ears as she shook her head. "I don't know what has happened between either you and Marshall or Marshall and Abby, but you have to fix it. He's hurting in a big way and it's time for you to man up and tell him how you feel." She emphasized each of the last three words. She held a hand up as Mary opened her mouth. "I don't want to hear it, whatever excuse you have. Tell the man you love him. He's waited long enough to hear it. And I suspect that underlies his broken engagement."

Mary glanced out the window once again, the hunched over, defeated posture of her best friend tugging at her heartstrings. Delia was right. This had to stop. Mary had been tip-toeing around Marshall and that wasn't like her. She needed to come clean on how she felt and they needed to wrestle their friendship back into some semblance of its former glory. She slowly stood up, reaching for the delicate origami dove that sat on her desk. Turning it in her hands, she marveled once again at the dexterity required to create the piece of art. Patience, tenderness, love; all had gone into creating this expression of his affection. Carefully holding it, she made her way to the balcony, smirking as she heard the door lock behind her. She didn't even turn around; she knew Delia would be standing there, smug look on her face. Door barred against any possible escape until what needed to be said had been said.

She glanced around, shoulders hunching in instinctively, protectively. Nothing good had ever happened out on this balcony. Scene of emotional turmoil and devastation. She had slept out here to avoid her family. She had cried in Marshall's arms out here when her father's emotional legacy had her so twisted in knots she was lashing out. She had watched Marshall eating lunch out here numerous times with Abigail, the sharp little jabs of jealousy painful reminders of what she was losing. She had been asked to end her most significant relationship out here, pasting a smile on her face, while dying inside. Mary didn't much like the balcony. Marshall had even lost a witness over it's ledge.

Marshall looked up as she approached the table, frowning slightly. He had taken to eating out on the balcony as it usually guaranteed he would be left in peace. Mary didn't like coming out here – and who could blame her – and the others typically ate out for lunch. He was almost feeling territorial of the small table and chairs set out in the bright New Mexico sun. A faint flare of resentment rose up in him. Why was she disturbing his carefully crafted peace? He stared at the dove she placed in front of him. The dove he had created with love.

"Peace offering," she said. "I need for you to let me talk and you need to hear me." Marshall started to stand up and she pushed on his shoulder, sending him back to his chair. She took a seat opposite him and regarded him critically. His age was showing. He was no longer a young man. Grief was etched in the lines of his face. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him smile.

"Marshall, you laid your cards on the table that night you told me about Abby." He flinched and she reached over to grasp his hand, to keep his attention. "It wasn't exactly a revelation to me that you have had feelings for me. I've been pushing you away for years. Like you, I was desperate to protect the friendship at any cost." She threaded their fingers together. "Marshall, the cost has been too high. We are both miserable. I know you love me and I...I feel something for you. I think I wouldn't recognize love if it hit me in the face. All I know is these months since our last conversation on this balcony have been the worst of my life. And I'm including eight months of unwanted pregnancy and several months living in the car when I was a girl." Marshall looked at her startled, but said nothing as she shook her head.

"Look, I need you. I'm miserable without you. I miss you. I want you to be happy and you're not. I'm open to a change in our relationship, but mostly I want my friend back. It's so stupid us both being lonely when we could be with each other." She felt the sun beating down on her face, the clear blue sky a matching shade to Marshall's eyes. "Is that what love is?" she asked plaintively.

Marshall was quiet a moment, gaze kept downward on the fragile origami he had fashioned with so much affection, and on their entwined fingers. Had they ever just held hands? Not that he could recall. A sardonic smile ghosted past his lips.

"Love means never having to say you're sorry." He paused, glancing up, gauging her expression. His first attempt at levity in what seemed like months.

"Don't quote Love Story," she said softly, a half smile playing across her face. He nodded, was silent for some moments. His gaze focused beyond her. He couldn't bring himself to look her straight in the eyes.

"I'm going to need some time," he said hoarsely. "I don't know. We might just destroy each other." There had been a time when hearing these words from Mary would have sent him into paroxysms of ecstasy. Now, he just didn't know. Could he even open himself to the possibility of that type of hurt again?

"We won't," she responded confidently. "Because we are in each others heads, remember? I know you and you know me. I have a pied-a-terre all ready for you to move back into." That brought a small curve to his lips.

"Can we start with just getting reacquainted as friends?" he asked, squinting in the strong sunlight to see her face. Maybe this was the push he needed to move from just existing to living again. To regain his friendship with Mary would be a huge step.

She nodded. "I'd like that." A small flutter of hope in her belly had her shifting uncomfortably. She didn't want to hope. Not yet. But if she could get her friend back...Oh, if she could get her friend back, all would be right with the world again.

He studied the panorama of the city of Albuquerque visible from the balcony. "Abby is moving back to Texas. We're selling the house. She's leaving Oscar with me." He brought his gaze back to Mary.

She made a face. "I just can't seem to lose that dog. Spirit guide my ass. He wanted me to give Norah to the Templetons." Crossed arms seemed to ward off the possibility of letting the mutt back in her life, but Marshall knew better.

A broader smile crossed his face. "Sometimes a dog is just a dog. Destroying those files – it didn't mean anything. That was Oscar being Oscar. You should have seen my office at home the first time I forgot to close the door." Becoming serious again, he squeezed her hand and released her fingers, sitting back and regarding her quizzically.

"We have some work to do to repair our friendship. I own that, it was all on me. But I want it fixed. And if you mean what you just said, about...more, I want to explore that too. But I need time to process everything with Abby and get back on on even keel. Then we can talk more. Okay?"

Mary nodded. A warm feeling was washing through her middle. He was willing to talk, to maybe be friends again. For now, that was enough.

"I'm not in a rush. I'm not going anywhere." She waited a beat. "And neither are you."

The End

* * *

**Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews. I have to hold out some hope that 'this' is out there for our dynamic duo. They belong together, one way or another. Writing this helped me work through some of my anger over how the show ended. I'm glad you came along for the ride.**


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